


Safehouse

by eag



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aw Loki no, Deaf Clint Barton, Dubious Consent, Fraction Clint and Movie Loki, Loki Has Issues, Loss of Control, M/M, Mind Control, Scars, Sex, Snarky Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aw, Loki, no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safehouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WingsMadeOfTin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsMadeOfTin/gifts).



The light creaked on, buzzing malevolently, revealing the spiderweb cracks in the thick, white lead paint and the peeling plaster on the moulding. It was quiet, snow quiet. Outside, distant cars rumbled past, tires hissing through the wet. One day of hiding, one day of driving. They were in Denver, in a safehouse of his own, a place he didn't think about too often and a place no one else knew about. An old piece of property in an old, semi-abandoned industrial area of the city, a building built during a long-ago construction boom, right next to the railroad tracks. It had been a boarding house once, and maybe a whorehouse, but by the time he got to it, it was pretty much just an old building with some pretensions at being a house, or maybe pretensions at being a store with some apartments on the second floor. There was an old, chipped, and faded mural on the outer wall facing the rails, and the brickwork was a little looser every year with the passing of so many freight trains. He had won it in a bet, playing a fucked up version of William Tell that he had no right playing drunk.

But that was a long time ago, and in another country and besides...

“All clear, sir.” Clint found the thermostat and fiddled with it, turning up the heat; it was like an icebox inside.

Loki stepped in. Snow dusted his hair, his clothing, but it didn't seem to melt. He didn't even bother brushing it off as he stepped inside, the heels of his boots clicking on the broken tile floor.

“Good work. Though...I must say, I'm used to better.”

“Sorry, I'm not exactly on a Ritz budget unless you mean the cracker.”

Loki glanced at him, a curious and searching look. He was too big for the space, and gave the sense of a tiger striding into one's living room, snuffling around, disproportionately large when placed against a familiar human scale. He rested his hand on the worn-smooth bannister railing. “Are there rooms upstairs? Beds?”

“A couple rooms. Not much in the way of beds, but I think I've got some old camping gear up there. A sleeping bag. Maybe a cot.”

“All right.” With that, Loki sent the others to bed. Selvig, and that other S.H.I.E.L.D agent, what was his name? Tom, Dick, Harry, James...he couldn't tell them apart. Just a bland band of eager, military-precise professional guys who kept their lockers tidier than anyone's personal space had a right to be, and never even once joked about sneaking off base to get pizza. 

He followed Loki around the rooms downstairs, past a rickety broken piano and a dusty kitchen with a few ancient rusty unlabeled cans mouldering in the pantry. He brushed a spiderweb out of the way, graciously, so Loki wouldn't walk into it. Loki hadn't dismissed him yet. He wondered what the man wanted from him that he couldn't get from the others. Some distant part of him thought this was a bad portent; Loki might be up to some mischief that he didn't want anything to do with. But another part of him felt this weird sense of pride, as if being chosen meant that it made him special. That latter part seemed to be winning.

“All right. Enough. I've seen enough of this miserable hovel. Time to rest.” Loki looked exhausted, dark bruised-looking flesh under eyes that had a faintly glazed look, and who could blame him? Traveling half-way across the galaxy and then across almost the entire damned Southwest, through desolate snow-drifted plains where they could go for stretches of hours without seeing a habitation, without even seeing another vehicle. And then to this place, that smelled like mildew and old wood varnish and mothballs.

Plus it had been snowing the last day or so, slowing them down to a grinding 20 mph on the 25 going through Raton Pass, where the roads snaked up the side of a mountain that was more like a giant plateau, covered in snow. At least they picked up Del Taco on the way into town, via the drive-thru, so he wasn't half-starved like he had been throughout the majority of the day. He would have preferred somewhere that served something with green chili, but the four of them together were too conspicuous. Probably there was a nationwide manhunt or something like that going on, just for them. Clint ran his tongue over his back molars absently, tasting a faint hint of salty, ground beef and taco sauce.

They found the one room with the bed, the one tiny concession to the miserable approximation of a home that this place had. So the others were sleeping on the floor. Made sense, Clint thought. Military ranks continued wherever they went. General Loki got the bed, and the rest of them would make do. Though he thought the older scientist probably could have used something gentler on his back than a rusty old military surplus cot.

“Lemme make the bed.” Clint went and opened the dusty wardrobe with a creak, pulling out a few crackling plastic-sealed packages. Sheets, pillows, a couple wool blankets that smelled like cedar chips and sheep. He made the bed as well as he could, which meant that everything was creased and slightly askew. At least everything was clean. Gave him something to look forward to when he was half-dead from a fight. Clean sheets. Something to live for, when that whole goodness, justice, and the American way thing sometimes didn't quite cut it. Wait, that was truth. Not goodness.

Thank goodness it wasn't goodness.

He patted the pillows plump.

“All right. All set for bed. Good night.” And he got up to get out of the way, but then Loki beckoned him over.

“Not quite yet. Tell me your name.” 

Right, they hadn't really been properly introduced. Something about not wanting to be buried under tons of rock and then not dying in a high-speed shoot-out. He had been too busy driving. Then not talking for 10 hours on a roadtrip for what should have been about 7 hours. And then not making eye contact while eating Del Taco in the parking lot while giving some skater kids the stink-eye as the boys rolled around the lot, eating shit when they went off the railings.

“It's Clint. Clint Barton. They call me Hawkeye. My _nom de guerre_ or whatever.” It just rolled right out of his mouth, and he didn't even mean to say it. It was like he couldn't stop himself.

“Tell me, Clint. What weapons are you proficient in using?”

“Guess it depends on if you count me as one. But as far as tools go, in order of proficiency: bow and arrow, handgun, semi-automatic rifle, switchblade, dagger (single and double edged), sword, fencing foil, small change.” Clint raised his hand. “Oh, and this.” He pulled off his gloves, shoving them in his pockets, and pointed at his right fist, at the lumpy knuckles and the scars where he had split open his knuckles in the past punching some asshole. More like an endless procession of some assholes. He shrugged. “I'd probably rate this higher than the handgun, but not as high as the bow and arrow.”

“A warrior then.” Loki looked pleased, and it sent a little stir of excitement through Clint, like he was getting praise from a favorite teacher or something. He felt embarrassed to feel like this; he hadn't felt like this since he was a dumb snot-nosed kid. “I could tell you have heart.”

“Thanks.” Clint felt himself blushing. His ears felt hot, and he looked away.

“Come here.” Loki sat down on the bed and gestured, and Clint felt himself moving, even though he wanted to stay put. Closer didn't seem like a good idea, but then it seemed as though it were the only idea that was possible in his world. He sat down.

Loki ran a cool hand along his Clint's jaw, over the blond stubble that was almost too pale to show, but Clint barely noticed. Was that a tiny snowflake still clinging to a long strand of Loki's hair? But then as Clint exhaled, it disappeared, melting into nothing. Up close, Loki seemed even paler, with corpsey-blue undertones to his skin. A blue-blood. No wonder. Imperious and arrogant as shit, but impressive in his own way, the kind of guy that knew what he wanted and made it happen. The kind of guy that got shit done. Even if there wasn't something that seemed like it had untethered Clint from what he knew was the world of good ideas and what he could clearly identify as the world of bad ideas, this was a guy Clint could respect. A guy who was fucking serious.

“I want to see what you look like under all these clothes.” Loki gestured. “Take it off.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

So Clint stood up. Little warning bells were going off in his head, distantly, but it wasn't anything that seemed important, and a second later it was like his brain had hit snooze, and those feelings of alarm were gone. He had been asked; he would do. It didn't seem unreasonable.

Clint pulled off his black jacket; one of those fancy space-age polyesters that repelled just about everything and still breathed; that went on the floor. Then went the black shirt interwoven with Kevlar and the long, form-fitted pants, tactical fabric flexible enough for him to do some fancy footwork if he had to, but strong enough to resist tearing. He paused briefly at his purple boxers, and then slipped them off.

“Lovely.” Loki's eyes were running over him, and he was kind of glad it had been a while since he had been out in the field for real. For a change, he wasn't stuck all over with band-aids and surgical gauze and tape. Some weeks ago, he cracked his left wrist and about four ribs doing something they wanted doing, and after he was mostly healed, they had assigned him this cush job, easy money, easy work. Keep an eye on some top secret space tech, sit up in a crane in the rain and point arrows at people but don't shoot. They paid overtime too, included room and board and per diem. A nice setup; an apology for getting him laid up and idle. Since he took this New Mexico gig, he hadn't even gotten a papercut. Even when things got hairy a few months ago, most of it was out of their jurisdiction, and he had missed the worst of it. So what could go wrong?

Well, this was what could go wrong. Loki's hand reached out to him, and his fingers slid down along the band of muscle that girded Clint's pelvis, and he felt his skin twitch under the light touch. He shivered, and it wasn't even because of the cold room.

“Tell me,” Loki's hand suddenly changed direction and reached up to run his fingers over a long scar, and stupidly Clint thought it was a damned good thing that he wasn't fighting Loki with swords; the tall man had a long reach and could give him some real trouble. “Tell me how you came about these scars.”

Clint found himself laughing. “You really expect me to remember every single one? Well, okay...I'll try.” He started pointing at himself, here, there, left, right, up, down, back, front...all over. “Russian mafia. Italian mafia. Mexican mafia. Uh...wait, I remember, this one's from the Tong. Chinese mafia. Skateboard accident when I was 7. The accident was stealing a skateboard from a bigger kid. Circus knife-throwing incident gone wrong. Fight with a carnie when I was 12. Fell off a roof last summer, hit an awning and caught it right off the bounce, but tore my stupid pinky open trying to unhook my gear from a metal pipe. Oh, and these? Glass, glass, glass, glass, glass...”

“I see.” Loki gestured for him to stop, and he did, wondering what prompted him to tell Loki so much about himself. He always told people that skateboard scar was from a knife fight; it one of the few that was big enough to be notable. And a knife fight sounded a lot cooler than busting open your elbow on the concrete after getting gut-punched by some chunky punk.

“Anything else, sir?” Immediately he regretted asking that, but it seemed like the right thing to say at the time.

“There certainly is.” And that's when Loki drew him down onto the bed. “Come here. Lie down.”

“Yes, sir.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think. Clint's eyes narrowed a little as Loki pushed him down onto the bed, hands wandering over Clint's body, over the muscles and lingering on the scars, over his fingers and lingering on the callouses. Long, slender fingers ran through his shock of spiky blond hair, pressed against his lips and nudged his mouth open, just a little, feeling at the heated warmth in his mouth.

Strange shocks went through him; it took a little bit to recognize those were feelings of pleasure, and it left him uneasy, hesitant and confused. Clint tried to recall the last time he got laid, and then embarrassed, realized he couldn't remember. At least, not the exact circumstance. Whenever the last time it was though, it was not with a man; that he knew extremely clearly. In fact, as far as his brain figured, there were no last times in which his partner in bed had been a man.

Somehow he expected his brain or his body to give off some sense of alarm at the fact, some jolt of fear or nerves or maybe even disgust, but all he felt was a kind of strange acceptance, as if this was the only true reality to his world. He had a memory of what he thought things should be, but it seemed distant, utterly alien, as if the only thing now was Loki's will, Loki's orders, Loki's desires.

There was a part of him that wanted badly to please, waiting for Loki to give him the order to reciprocate, to touch in return, but Loki never said anything, didn't even take off the fine gray wool suit that he was wearing, not even to slip off the jacket or loosen the tie. The green-and-gold scarf trickled down his bare skin, the silk tickling across his chest and he gave a little meaningless shudder, unsure if his body was cold, warm, aroused, unaroused...

“Uh, you want me to...?” Clint ventured, and then his breath caught at what Loki was doing with his mouth.

“No.” Loki's breath was warm against his skin, and he nudged Clint's legs apart with his knee, shifting so that he rested between them.

“Are you-”

“Quiet.” Loki pushed his legs apart a little more, and his fingers ran over Clint's inner thighs, somehow both curious and intrusive, his expression grave, thoughtful.

“So is this...is this heading toward sex? I just want to know.”

“Shhh.” Loki's tongue played against his ear, and then paused. “What's this?” His fingers brushed over Clint's hearing aid, and Clint flinched as the light touch of Loki's fingertips transmitted loudly in his head.

“I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

“Not about this. Tell me what this is. A device to enhance your hearing?” Loki took Clint's head between his hands, turning it to see the other hearing aid, tucked neatly inside his ear canal.

“Yeah. I'm kind of deaf.”

“Really.” Loki drew away a little, resting on his elbows and Clint wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or disappointment or something else.

“Really.” And with that, Loki slipped them out of his ears and everything muffled down to a muted stillness. He said something, and Clint caught with a combination of hearing and by reading his lips, guessing from context.

“No, I can't hear you that well. I mean, I can kind of hear you, but I'm not getting enough consonants to make it clear.” His voice sounded louder in his own head than anything else in the world, and he wondered if he was talking too loud or not loud enough. He had a very strong memory of hating people knowing about his weakness, his disability. Here though, it didn't seem to matter much, as if feelings of the past were a faraway thing and what existed and mattered was only the present. It was an oddly comforting feeling, and for a second Clint realized that he didn't feel any resentments, any upset. There was no judgment from Loki, no sneering contempt or sickening sympathy, only mild curiosity.

Loki replaced them, carefully, and Clint winced a little at the brief whistle of feedback. “Ow. Thanks.” Suddenly the world regained texture again; he could hear a train passing in the distance, and the sound of a wet patter, dripping water. He wondered if it was warming up enough outside for the snow to turn into rain.

Loki ignored him, making a little nothing gesture with his hand, before wrapping slick fingers around Clint's cock, stroking him hard almost immediately. Clint didn't think this sort of thing was possible; he recalled from past experiences that brain and body had to be in accordance on this sort of thing, but here he was, a passenger in his own body, his brain on vacation as his body shuddered and trembled and writhed at every squeeze and stroke, at the lightly calloused pad of a thumb running over the head of his dick. Light-headed, he tried to say something. Something useful. Like, maybe condoms should be involved? Shouldn't we be having the safe sex talk? What about space herpes or whatever? But what came out of his mouth instead were gasping breaths, as if he had never had a handjob before in his life.

“Such heart, but no pleasure in your life.” Loki's mouth moved into something that looked like a smile but didn't quite make it to his eyes, a wry observation without much humor.

“I'm married to my work.”

“Your work makes a terrible bride.” Loki let him go, before slipping his hand between Clint's legs, sliding over his balls. Clint's breath caught in anticipation, and then he felt it, slippery digits carefully prying him open, sending weird shocks of pleasure through his body.

“You're...you're going where no man has gone before...” The joke came out before he could help himself, stupid, and he blushed.

“Then I'll savor it all the more. I promise to be gentle.” Loki smirked, and there was a glint in his eyes that seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Y-yeah, so, so maybe...” And before Clint could say anything about condoms or dumb jokes or whatever was on his oddly muddled mind, Loki had shifted forward, sliding his cock into Clint.

He moved slowly, deliberately, his fingers guiding the way and Clint felt the tension in his body build up, taut as a bowstring. This was wrong, all wrong, he should-

“Relax.” Loki's voice murmured in his ear, and he took a breath, gulping air as if his body had forgotten how to breathe correctly for a moment, and then everything loosened up and he felt Loki slide in all the way, up to the hilt.

“Shit...” Clint's heart was beating too fast; he hadn't gotten a look at it, but inside it felt huge, sending shivers through him, stretching him open with a sensation that was both pain and pleasure intermingled.

“Lovely,” was all Loki said, and Clint was trying to think of what exactly he did to get here and then Loki began to move.

Gently at first, but even then it sent dueling waves of pleasure and pain through him, though eventually the pleasure seemed to win out, by a thin margin. He wasn't sure what to do, but felt his hips arch up to meet Loki's thrusts, obscene and uncontrollable, and he didn't know what to make of it. Somewhere in his mind he knew this was wrong, this was a bad idea, but it was so easy to let those thoughts go, so easy to forget the inherent danger and the fear and maybe this is rape and yeah, this is probably rape. Definitely.

He felt his feet scrabbling along the icy bedding, trying to find some traction, anything, not sure if his body was trying to throw Loki off or draw him closer. With one hand, Loki caught him by the chin, his brilliant eyes boring into Clint's, and then Loki's other hand wrapped around his cock again and he came with an uncontrollable spasm, shooting hard as Loki fucked him.

But Loki didn't stop, taking his pleasure at his own pace, almost lazily. Even as Clint was wondering how long it would take for him to finish, and how much more of this he had to deal with, he found himself getting hard again in Loki's hand as Loki's cock pressed against something inside of him that seemed to only emit pleasure.

“Fuck...” The word gasped out between gritted teeth, and it was like he suddenly forgot a bunch of things about what was supposed to be right and only existed in this very moment, this very situation.

Loki's eyes narrowed and suddenly the whole thing changed around, and Clint felt himself being drawn up by a lean, strong arm, so that he was deeply impaled by Loki's cock, gravity pinning him as much as Loki's arm was.

“How does that feel?” Loki sounded amused, darkly so, as if he really didn't care but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“I don't know. Good? Bad...? Fuck...” Clint felt his sweaty, sticky skin shivering in the cold air, his whole body trembling, and foolishly for a moment he thought of how the wind would sometimes whistle against his bowstring, vibrating it into a low hum, and that was exactly how his body felt.

“That last one I can oblige.” Loki settled back a little, propping himself up with his elbow. With a free hand that ran over the curve of Clint's ass before giving it a light squeeze, he said, “Move.”

And Clint did, and there was a minor note of horror in his mind as his hips jerked against Loki, as he fucked himself up and down on Loki's cock, and then as he moved he started realizing that if he just stopped thinking, stopped caring about it, nothing could touch him anymore and he could just let go and not have to be in charge all the goddamned time.

It was breathtaking, the sudden deep loss of control, and despite the tiny clamor in the back of his mind that was easily silenced, he realized in a certain, sick way, that he was fucking enjoying this. Not the sex, but maybe the sex. Well, sure, the sex, but mostly the not having to fucking think or be strong and alert or be Hawkeye or any of that. He was open, vulnerable, doing shit that he didn't want to do, and he didn't even fucking care. Just to be body and breath and movement and animal, all-in-the-moment, none-in-the-mind... 

“Very...good...” Loki whispered, and then without withdrawing, he suddenly shoved Clint down, pushing his legs up so Clint's hips were tilted up at an obscene angle, and then he began to fuck Clint. Nothing like before, like that lazy, gentle pleasure, but a hard, deep fuck that wrung choked sounds out of Clint's throat, that seemed to have no room for kindness or consideration, only a raw guttural pounding with a cock that seemed to be hard beyond what it had been before.

Clint came again, and he could hear his own voice hoarse in his throat, alien, his hips jerking hard against Loki, and Loki ground his hips against Clint, coming with a gasp. Clint's whole body shuddered, feeling Loki's cock pulse inside of him, filling him.

He panted, trying to catch his breath, muscles straining from the exertion, and then he winced.

“Ow, ribs. Ow, ow...” His damned ribs; they weren't completely healed and there was that stupid intercostal that got strained at the same time those ribs got cracked and he thought it was mostly better but now shit...

Loki let him go, sliding out of him wetly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. It's a stupid thing that's still healing.” Clint curled up on himself, wincing at the sharp pain, even as residual shivers of pleasure went through his body. It was an odd sensation, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

“Here, let me see.” Loki's hands ran over his ribs, and then he pressed down hard with his fingers along the muscle between two ribs, causing a shooting pain in Clint's side that made him gasp. And then almost miraculously, the pain went away.

“T-thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Loki was straightening his clothes, and Clint suddenly realized he hadn't seen an inch of Loki's bared body, not even his dick. It was almost as if nothing had happened between them. But for the dampness between his legs, and the stickiness of his own chest, there seemed to be no evidence. Even Loki's clothes looked clean, immaculate.

Cautiously, Clint sat up, and he felt the strange soreness inside of himself, in his legs and his pelvis, and even the memory of what had just happened sent a shiver of pleasure through him.

Thoughtlessly, he leaned over to kiss Loki; what were those cold lips like? His earlobe and his throat had known the touch, but it was different...

Loki visibly flinched away, and Clint drew back, confused.

“Sorry,” he said, as Loki got up off the bed. “I didn't mean-”

“Go to sleep.” Loki pointed at the bed, and Clint wiped himself off a little with the edge of the sheet before wrapping up in a scratchy wool blanket.

He wanted to ask Loki, well, what about you? But then the soreness in his body and the fatigue of a long day and everything else suddenly caught up with him and he dozed off. The last thing he remembered was hearing Loki's footsteps, slow and deliberate, pacing the hollow wooden floors.

**Author's Note:**

> An AU in which the movie edition of Clint is swapped out for the Fraction _Hawkeye, My Life as a Weapon_ Clint. Inspired by a conversation with WingsMadeOfTin about Clint Barton's personality in the Avengers movie. 
> 
> Decided to switch the secret Tesseract research base to New Mexico. This story is set sometime before the Fraction comic, as the Avengers haven't formed yet. Thanks to A-chan for the title suggestion, and thanks to WingsMadeOfTin for being such a wonderful friend and source of inspiration.


End file.
